


Taking the Bait

by Not_You



Series: The Faceless Man and the Girl Wonder [2]
Category: Watchmen (Comic), Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Internalized Homophobia, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rivals to Lovers, aggressive virgin, no homo!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2012-11-06
Packaged: 2017-11-18 02:49:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an alternate universe where Laurie is Rorschach's kid sidekick, she sort of bullies him into deflowering her, since she digs him and doesn't want to die a virgin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Look, we both nearly fucking died tonight and I don't think it's too much to ask!"

"Don't know what you're saying, Laurel." He says, infuriatingly rational and gentle as he carefully folds her costume, redesigned to be more like armor and less like porn. She glares, arms crossed over her chest. She's wearing his bathrobe, and it fits perfectly because he's a tiny little fuck. He's shorter than her, padding around in stocking feet with his mask half up.

"Yes I do, you asshole! I don't wanna die a virgin, I know you care about me, and despite being a complete lunatic, you're kinda sexy!"

This shocks him into a snort of laughter as he stashes her costume behind a loose section of panelling in the wall. "You only think that because you've never seen my face." He stands up straighter, and looks over at her. "If you're determined, you should find someone your own age."

"And have you break his fingers because you're over-protective and boys my age pretty much universally suck? Christ, I know you want me, don't talk like I'm trying to get you to donate a kidney." She shakes a lock of damp hair out of her face, trying not to feel his rejection for what it is.

"What I want or don't want is immaterial." It's his tone that gets her. So deadly calm and even, all self-abnegation and reason. She snarls and drops the robe to the floor. He's seen her in that trampy Silk Spectre suit, and he's held one of her long legs across his lap to stitch it up, promising terrible, terrible vengeance on Big Figure for trying to hamstring her, but he's never seen the whole show. She's had to change in the same room, but he always turns his back, scrupulously chivalrous. It's somewhere between heartbreaking and funny, how unprepared he is for this full-frontal assault, cringing back like a vampire in the face of the True Cross. He whirls around so fast it makes his jacket flare a little, and she's sure he's cursing himself for having taken off his coat. It's really bad enough that they're in his apartment at all, but it was the closest reasonably secure place, and even though he's never said he'll do whatever it takes to keep his partner safe, he doesn't have to.

"Laurel! Put clothes back on!" He's actually covering his eyes, like a little kid or a shocked maiden aunt.

"Make me." She steps out of the dark blue pile and tosses her hair back over her shoulder.

"Laurel," he growls, uncovering his eyes with obvious determination, shoulders hunched up around his ears as he balls his hands into fists, "will not engage in childish behavior. Will only request that you consider how much you're proving my point."

"If you really don't want me, turn around."

"Not decent."

"Am I ever really decent?" She purrs, high on adrenaline and prowling up behind him. "I've seen you look at me. Don't think that mask hides everything." He makes a little hurt noise in his throat, and she feels kinda bad for how wet that makes her. "C'mon." She rests her hands on those tense shoulders and god, he's shaking. "Turn around and tell me you don't want me."

"Laurel..." His voice is pleading and cracks on her name. "Laurel, I c-can't..." She wraps her arms around him, her breasts pressing against his back, and he actually fucking whimpers.

"Can't, or can't not?" She bites his neck and he groans, tipping his head back.

"Filthy," he mutters, as she unbuttons his jacket. "Filthy and weak... Sorry, Laurel." He really does sound broken up about it, and she sighs, stopping to just hold him for a minute.

"Rorschach, I want you to. Would you get that through your thick head? Because this is really hot, but you're starting to make me feel bad."

"Would make you feel worse to--ehnk!" She yanks the jacket the rest of the way off, flinging it aside.

"Would you stop being an idiot? Think of everything else you've taught me! Is this really so different?" She can feel this thought turning over and over as it sinks to the bottom of his head. "Please." She says softly, hands ghosting over the buttons of his shirt but not undoing them. She's no rapist, and if he really manages to hold out, she guesses she's just gonna have to get dressed, go home and cry.

"Forgive me." He whispers, and she doesn't even know if he's talking to her or Jesus or what, and she doesn't really have time to wonder, because he's kissing her like he'll die if he doesn't, his trembling arms wrapped around her. She's felt them before, in sparring matches and when they're hunched over a map of the subway system, and he says something kinda mean about her youth and inexperience, and she punches him for it and he doesn't mind. They're like iron, and now they're holding her like she's precious and breakable, spotless gloves smooth on her skin. She moans into his mouth, and he shudders and whines, his hands mapping the sleek lines of her back, not really daring to grab her ass until she takes one and puts it there, and then the other comes to join it, squeezing hard but not too hard, and drawing her right in against him.

She's kinda relieved to feel every inch of him and to only count about five and a half. Her mother says it's not the size of the boat but the motion of the ocean, and really, any bigger would be kinda scary. He peels off his gloves and drops them, callouses wonderful on her skin. With his hands safely occupied (and who would've guessed that having your ass groped felt so nice?) she can unbutton his shirt. She's seen him in his undershirt before, but only because she was trying to quell something terribly arterial that was happening with his left arm. She can see the scar, paler than pale and twisting through the freckles. It was her shaky stitching and tears that made it so ugly, and she kisses it softly to apologize to that smooth skin.

After that particular brush with death, she had only wanted him to hold her close with his good arm, and he had. For a long, quiet time in one of Adrian's boltholes, impersonal as a hotel room, rocking her a little bit and making the few soothing noises he was capable of. It twists in her gut like sorrow, but also makes her blood run even hotter, memories of the nearness of loss making her want to consume him. She bites his shoulder, one sharp canine on ribbed cotton, the other on skin, and his hips jerk against her. She can feel the mess she's leaving on the front of his pinstripes, and whimpers, yanking the strap down so she can bite him again, holding on this time, determined to leave her mark. He groans, the sound so low it's almost a growl, and she finally lets go, pleased with the dark red bruise blooming within the ring of indents left by her teeth.

"Oh god, Laurel..." And it's completely fucking obscene, because he never swears, so it's got the payload of a thousand f-bombs. She tears his shirt off of him and flings it over the jacket, now eons distant, and drags up the undershirt, stopping to bite one nipple because it's so pink and fucking dainty and utterly unlike him, and he jumps and yelps and twitches against her, which is really kind of creepy, like some kind of undersea creature, but it feels good, so she just purrs and licks him, pulling the undershirt off over his head and slinging it to some distant and unregarded country. She kisses him again, so hard it leaves him breathless, and steers him bedward. The mattress is thin and cheap and she doesn't give a shit, pushing Rorschach down onto his back.

She touches his face, and he pulls back like it burns. "It's okay, you can keep it on."

"...Really don't mind?" And he actually sounds timid, and it's actually cute, and she bursts out laughing.

"No, I don't mind." She kisses him. "Whether or not I see your face, I know you." That said, she gets to work on his pants, tugging them off and doing her best to restrain her amusement at the dingy white briefs under them. They're sweaty, but it's fresh. They're greyish from too much washing, not the reverse, and there's a place by the waistband where a hole along the seam has been fixed with neat white stitches. She pulls them down, and takes a minute to check him out, fascinated. Shit, he's got freckles here, too! Laurie doesn't laugh, because she figures laughing at a guy's cock is a pretty damned good way to deflate it, no matter how kindly meant. He's uncut, and she's kinda surprised at how wet he is. She gives his foreskin a curious and gentle tug back and he bucks and whimpers. "Cool."

"G-glad you think so." He says it as dryly as he can manage with his cock in her hand. She's pleased at how little success he has and licks the tip, making him cry out, sounding lost. Laurie grins, and kneels between his legs, pulling his pants and his socks off, dropping them over the side of the bed. When Rorschach suddenly sits up, she wonders if he's reconsidering, and stares at him as he goes to the closet, kneeling and digging through the various shoeboxes he keeps his crap in.

"If you don't mind my asking, partner, just what the hell are you doing?"

"Condoms." He turns back, holding three, all still connected by the perforated edges of the wrappers.

She stares. "Wow. Thank god I have you to take care of me."

"God has nothing to do with it." He mutters, coming to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Holy crap, are these Army issue?"

"Gift." He coughs.

"...The Comedian totally gave you these, didn't he?"

"...Yes."

"Fuck it, I don't care. It's better than being pregnant."

"Glad to see you so reasonable." He deadpans, rolling one on.

"Mmm. On your back." She suits action to words, pushing him down again. He lets her, and whimpers when she straddles him.

"Wait..." he croaks, "will hurt." She doesn't want to wait, but Rorschach is just thick enough to give her pause. So she ranges over him and makes a game of brushing her nipples over his face to distract him as he works two fingers into her. "Good?" He asks softly, before catching one nipple in his mouth.

"Y-yeah." He's so gentle. It shouldn't come as a surprise, but it does, and she purrs as he strokes slow and even over exactly the right spot. His thumb on her clit is actually too gentle, and she presses against it so he'll get the idea. Soon there are three fingers in her, and it doesn't hurt at all. She rocks on them, wanting more, and when she tells him so he flushes bright red. He leaves it up to her, and once she realizes that's what he's doing, she guides him in and sinks down, groaning deep in her chest.

Rorschach turns out to be good with more than just his hands, and soon she's whimpering and moaning as they move together, as perfectly synchronous as they are in combat. After a while they've shifted, so he's sitting with his back against the wall, covering her in stubbly kisses, and leaving marks of his own on her shoulders as she squeezes him as tightly as she can, because it makes him let out something that's almost a squeak. It also makes him bite harder, and she's not sure which she likes better. He grabs her hand and gets her to guide his fingers over her clit, until he's doing it exactly right and she just can just wrap her arms around his neck and hang on.

She doesn't recognize her own voice, and she can only hope the way she's practically wailing isn't freaking Rorschach out. He certainly isn't going soft. His face is set in a comically grim expression, and she can tell it's because he's trying to last. Laurie kisses him because the words to tell him how much she appreciates the effort are nowhere to be found. She comes moments later, clamping down on him in waves as her hips buck automatically and a last burst of wetness wells up. She digs her nails into his shoulders and rides it out.

His resolve gives way to an expression somewhere between pained and beatific and she suddenly wishes she was on the pill, so she could could feel it happen. Watching is good enough, and feeling the snap of his hips as he buries himself in her completely. He moans her name, hiding his face in her hair and clinging to her for a long time. They catch their breath in the ensuing silence.

"Thanks, partner." Laurie finally says, kissing him again.

"Laurel..."

"I'm not gonna mess everything up by falling in love with you, but I do love you, okay?"

"Okay." He coughs, hiding his face again. "Return sentiments."

She laughs. "Good."


	2. OT3 Coda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in the same universe, for a prompt in which Dan is not the lynchpin of the OT3, but is one of the tense points competing for the center's attention (at first, anyway) as Rorschach and Laurie so often are.

Dan knows he's driving Rorschach batshit. Nevermind that until Dan showed up, he was content to skulk around with one of his protoge's 'lost' gloves tucked over his heart and say nothing. Little creep should be grateful, goddammit. If Dan hadn't wandered in and done the obvious thing, Rorschach would still be carrying a torch for her in silence. It's actually really moving, because he can tell Rorschach would tear down the heavens with his bare hands if Laurie wanted him to, and he really never would have said a word. Of course, he has to share her now since he never approached her on his own, and now he spends even more time hunched over his journal, scribbling angrily.

Today he's doing it in the bathroom with all the lights off, which is a really bad sign. He sits in the dry bathtub fully clothed, pen scratching away in the blue-tinted dimness. Dan sighs and makes coffee. Usually Rorschach at least gets through breakfast before fleeing, but this morning has been kinda awkward. There's no real protocol for waking up with the guy who's letting you sleep with his girlfriend's morning wood against your leg. Especially not when you've actually become tangled up in the night, so he's tucked cozily in against your chest like a stuffed animal or a baby. Christ. He throws a frozen coffee cake into the oven as a peace offering, because while nobody doesn't like Sara Lee, Rorschach a passionate, furtive affair with her.

 _Smell cake. Will not be drawn out._ Rorschach underlines the last sentence multiple times, and sighs. This lust for Daniel confuses him, because it isn't as if his attachment to Laurel has faded. It has, if anything, gotten stronger, and he sighs miserably. She sleeps in the middle, and this isn't the first time she's woken up before them and gone off to run errands, although it is rare. But Rorschach has been able to keep to his side, even with her gone, even on the colder nights of early spring. With the year deepening into summer, it should be easier. He hears the faint shift of pressures in the house that means someone has opened the door. The tone of Daniel's greeting lets him know that it's Laurel, and he sighs, feeling childish.

She comes breezing in with raindrops in her hair, and presses a kiss to the side of Dan's neck, making him shiver. "What'd you do?"

"What do you mean?"

"You always give Rorschach coffee cake when you piss him off." She shrugs. "It's ingenious, I was just wondering what happened." She hops up onto the counter, slotting a toothpick between her teeth. It's a curiously masculine little twitch, and awkwardly enough, one of the first things that had drawn Dan to her. She says she almost took up smoking at sixteen, but that Rorschach pitched such an unbelievable fit that it wasn't worth it.

Dan sighs. "Honestly, he rolled over to my side, but there was contact with erect junk, which made it gay."

"You mean you guys got all gay with each other and I missed it? Fuck!"

He can't help but laugh. "Maybe you should tell Rorschach that. I think he's guilt-tripping himself."

"Hurm." She hops off the counter. "Where's he hiding?"

"Bathroom."

"Great, I have to take a piss anyway. Rorschach!" She calls, trying the door and finding it unlocked.

"Yes, Laurel?" He looks up from the tub, brown eyes mild and solicitous, and then rolls onto his back and looks at the ceiling when it becomes clear she's actually going to use the facilities.

"So I heard you were like, sleep-humping Dan."

"Was not _humping_."

She laughs, flushing and getting up to wash her hands. "Well, okay. But still. I mean, do you want him?"

He squirms desperately for a long moment, the way he does whenever he's trying to lie to her for any reason other than to save her life. "...Yes."

"It's all right if you do, Walter." She says softly, and he leaves his journal in the tub to come and wrap his arms around her.


End file.
